The
world has come between us,
Our
lives have come between us,
But I
know you just don't care.
Then I say,
"What about Breakfast at Tiffany's?"
She
said, "I think I remember the film.
Yes, I
recall, I think, we both kinda liked it."
And I
said, "Well, that's one thing we've got."
Deep
Blue Something, "Breakfast at Tiffany's"
Another
boring Saturday afternoon.
Rogue
shifted her laundry basket to her other hip as she turned the corner into the
basement laundry room. She hoped the machine was free. With so many people in
the house, the washer and dryer ran constantly, and there was always a load
either just going into or just coming out of either or both. And some
people—she wasn't sure who, but she suspected one was her annoying little
brother—had a habit of dumping the stuff out of the washer onto the floor, and
putting their own clothes in.
She
was in luck; the washer was empty. She tipped the basket up and started loading
her pre-separated clothes in, then hunted around for the detergent. You'd think
they'd leave it out where you could get to it, but someone—not the wash-dumper,
probably one of the girls—kept putting it away somewhere nobody could find it.
Ah, here it was, under the sink. Stupid place to put it.
She
turned around and walked right into something.
"Scuse
me, darlin'."
Correction:
someone.
She
hadn't expected Logan to be home. He pretty much came and went as he pleased,
and never told anyone where he was going.
"Sorry,"
she muttered, and stepped to the side.
He
went to the dryer and began unloading it. She was trying not to look, but found
herself sneaking a peek, hoping to see what kind of underwear he
preferred—boxers or briefs?
"How
come you didn't go into town with the others?" he asked.
"Ice
skating?" She raised her eyebrows. "Not exactly my thing."
"You
don't know how, do you?"
"I'm
from the South," she snapped. "We don't have a lot of ice there."
"Even
Florida has a hockey team," he countered.
"I
guess. I don't watch hockey." She measured out the detergent and poured it on
top of her clothes.
There
was an awkward silence.
Logan
shifted the laundry basket from one hip to the other. "So, what are your plans
today?"
"Um,"
Rogue said. "There was a movie I wanted to go see . . ."
"What
movie? Anything interesting?"
She
looked at the floor, embarassed. "Breakfast at Tiffany's," she mumbled.
"What?"
"Breakfast
at Tiffany's," she repeated. "It's playing at the little revival house
across town."
"I'll
go with you."
She
blinked. "You will?"
"Do
you mind?"
"No,
it's fine with me. I just didn't think it was your kind of movie."
"There's
a lot you don't know about me."
That,
at least, was true.
"Sure,
all right. Let me get rid of this thing and I'll meet you outside."
Logan
nodded.
The theater was
more crowded that Logan thought it would be. At first he didn't get it, but
then when he saw the man walking up and down the aisle, handing out sheets of
paper, it dawned on him. The revival theater was at the edge of the university
campus, and a lot of film classes met there to take notes.
"Okay,
I want you all to record your impressions of Holly Golightly's character," the
man was saying. "And we'll discuss them in class on Monday. Remember that the
final product must be typed, double-spaced—"
He
started to hand a paper to Logan, then realized his mistake. "Oh, I'm sorry,
you're not in the class, are you?"
"No,
I'm not."
"Sorry
about that. I hope you and your daughter enjoy the show." He walked on up the
aisle.
"Daughter!"
Rogue grumbled.
"Now
calm down. He didn't know."
"Yeah,
but—"
"Shhhh.
Movie's starting." The lights went down, and the screen lit up.
Sitting
there in the darkness, watching Holly get out of the cab while "Moon River"
played in the background, Logan thought of the last time he'd seen this film.
He thought of blonde hair falling across his shoulder, of delicate laughter ringing
in his ears, of a small hand in his.
God,
he missed her so much.
Rogue,
on the other hand, understood the confusion and the loneliness that Holly felt,
knew what it was like to be alone in the world, not knowing who you really were
or who you could trust. It was almost like watching herself up there, in a way.
It
was around the time of the party scene that they realized they were holding
hands.
They
looked at each other for a moment, then looked away.
What
am I doing?
Rogue thought. I can't get close to anyone, no matter what!
Logan
was thinking, She's only a little girl, not . . . who you were thinking of.
Don't try to use her for your own needs. You can't make her into . . . into . .
.
He
couldn't even think her name anymore. It was too painful.
"Uh
. . . you want some popcorn?" he whispered to her.
"Sure.
Get me a drink too, please."
He
went up the aisle and opened the theater door as quietly as he could.
While
he was gone, Rogue thought about him. She knew so little about the man—where he
came from, if he had any family, even the rest of his name. She didn't even
know if Logan was his first or last name.
Maybe
he made it up,
she thought, like Holly Golightly. Just because it suited him.
It
wouldn't have surprised her.
The
thought that he knew as little about her as she did about him never occurred to
her.
I'm
an idiot,
Logan thought as he stood in line for the snacks. He hadn't expected a wait,
but the other movie the theater was showing, some John Wayne film, was just
starting.
Why
did I even come here? What was I trying to do, go back to the past somehow?
It's gone, she's
gone, and nothing will ever change that.
"Can I help you?" the kid behind the counter asked. Logan
realized he had made it all the way to the front of the line without noticing.
"Two
regular popcorns and a Coke."
"What
size Coke?"
She
hadn't told him. "Small."
"Butter
on the popcorn?"
What
was with all the questions? "No thanks."
"Okay,
here you go."
He
paid and took the stuff back to his seat, wondering how you could live with
someone without knowing anything about them.
"Did
I miss much?" he asked.
"No.
Just her husband showing up." Rogue reached out and took one of the popcorns.
"Hey, there's no butter on this!"
"How
was I supposed to know you wanted butter?"
"Ssshhhhh!"
someone behind them hissed.
"Sorry,"
Logan muttered, and continued in a whisper. "You didn't tell me you wanted
butter!"
"You
didn't ask!"
"I'll
remember next time," he said, and immediately wondered where that had
come from. Next time? Why did he think there was going to be a next time?
Rogue
held her popcorn in her lap and put her drink in the cup holder in the armrest.
She didn't say another word till the end of the movie. She wasn't mad, just . .
.
To
tell the truth, she didn't know what she was feeling right now. It
didn't seem to make any sense. Did she like Logan? Well, she respected him, as
a teacher and mentor. She got along with him okay. But he was so much older
than she was. How much, she wasn't sure. It didn't matter, anyway; she wasn't
looking for boyfriend material in any shape or form.
Was
she?
If
only life had as many happy endings as the movies, Rogue thought as they left
the theater. In movies, it was so simple. The heroine looked into the hero's
eyes and knew that they were a perfect match, just like that. And they kissed,
and went off to live happily ever after.
Where
was her happily ever after? Where was the guy who would chase after her when
she jumped out of a cab in the pouring rain?
"You
like the movie?" Logan asked her as they got into the car.
"Oh,
yeah," she said. "I love it. I saw it on TV about a month or two ago. They
don't make 'em like that anymore."
"No,"
Logan said, a tinge of sadness in his voice. "They sure don't."
Her
clothes were all over the floor again.
No
sooner had Rogue stepped in the house than she saw a line of clothes stretching
out the laundry room door. They were still damp.
"Damn
it!" She opened the washer and found a load of someone else's clothes just
finishing their cycle.
I
ought to dump these on the floor just to teach whoever it is a lesson, she thought, then spotted a
familiar Hawaiian shirt near the top of the washer. Kurt's.
A
moment later, she dumped the entire load into his lap.
"Hey!"
He jumped up from the couch, scattering clothes everywhere. "What's the big
idea?"
"Maybe
next time you'll wait your turn instead of dumping the stuff on the floor," she
said, and stalked upstairs to her room.
Logan
met her on the stairs.
"What
was that all about?" he asked.
"Nothing,"
she grumbled, and started up again.
"Pretty
loud nothing."
She
stopped, and looked back at him. "Kurt's just being a jerk again."
"You
know he only teases you cause he's your brother. Considers it his duty, or
something."
"Yeah,
well, that doesn't mean he can get away with it."
He
just shrugged. "He'll learn."
Rogue
just stood there for a moment longer before she spoke again. "Logan?"
"Yeah?"
"Would
you . . . would you like to go to the movies again next week? They're showing Roman
Holiday."
He
gave her a smile, the first she'd seen since she came here. "Maybe," he said, "we'll
teach you to ice skate."
Laundry, Life and Breakfast at Tiffany's
By: Eileen